Rumi

O  Divine fire Immortal

Arise must I to the Portal

Empyrean, and I shall find,

In fulsomeness, love-drunk roses

Of preternaturally kind.

Love shall pour out its sweet tresses

from her love-irradiated

Center to my spirit blessed.

 

Goethe

O Joy-inebriated Sun

Of beauty that you have become

We now drink love’s holy wine, don

Her roseate cloak of endless joy.

Lets join the Choir of Birds

Whose mellifluous songs of resurrection morn

Resonate through verdant meadows…

 

Weep not Aeolian Maids of Parnassus!

Sweet is the Empyrean Mead

That pours out of  your velvet lips.

 

 

 

 

 

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